


Oh, Baby!

by vanillafluffy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Awesome Clint Barton, Baby, Domestic, Family, Family Feels, Father Figures, Fatherhood, Gen, Language, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Is a Good Bro, godfathers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 05:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: For that classic scenario, finding a baby on their doorstep.





	Oh, Baby!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



> It was a drabble prompt. You may have noticed I went a few (thousand) words beyond that. Picturing Bucky with a baby and Steve trying to control the situation was too much fun. Enjoy! 
> 
> Oh, and it's pretty much hand-waving for anything after CAtWS, so fear not: No spoilers!

The noise is what first summons them into the kitchen, where they both stop in their tracks, struck dumb. Predictably, Bucky is the first to find his voice.

Loudly, he asks,“What have I told you about leaving the back door open, Stevie?”

Steve doesn’t reply immediately. He’s too focused on the dominant object resting on their kitchen table, the one that absolutely wasn’t there five minutes ago. “That’s a baby!” he observes in a tone meant to carry over the infant’s wails.

“Right,” Bucky agrees, rolling his eyes. “It isn’t a pineapple, or a goldfish, or--what the hell happened to my brownies? They were cooling off _right there on the counter--_!”

“ _Language!_ ” Steve remonstrates.

“Ah, that one’s too little to pick up any bad words. Aren’t you, dearie?” He scoops the infant out of the car seat it’s been confined in, and within seconds, the shrieks have faded away. He makes a goofy face at the baby, which responds with a gurgle of happiness. “Check that bag--the one on the chair, it sure as fff…fudge isn’t ours.”

“There’s a note!” Steve announces, removing it gingerly as if he thinks it might be rigged to explode. “’Please take care of Archer for me. This was the safest place I could think of. I can’t take him with me where I’m going.’ There’s nothing else, no signature. What are we going to do, Buck?”

“What else is in there?”

Steve investigates. “Diapers, formula, wipes, clothes…that’s weird.”

“Of course something’s weird,” Bucky sing-songs, bouncing little Archer on his hip. “That’s our life, it’s weird. Somebody swapped a baby for a panful of brownies. Definitely screwy, un-huh….”

With an exasperated sigh, Steve holds up a piece of paper, roughly torn. It’s half of a twenty-dollar bill.

“That’s interesting.” Bucky stops jiggling the baby, who lets out an experimental squawk. “Whoops.” More rocking. “His ma or da has the other half of the bill, like the other half of a claim ticket.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Nah, not so much. Heck, I remember when I was a kid, one of my da’s side-jobs was taking care of a building, the owner was in the rackets. More than once, Mr. Semmling gave me half of a dollar bill and told me I’d get the other half if I’d run an errand for him. You always wondered where I got the money to take you and the girls to the pictures, well, now you know.”

He’s been looking at Archer throughout the monologue, making exaggerated faces as he talked, keeping the baby entertained…the performance reminds Steve that Bucky had had three younger sisters, which explains why he’s so comfortable with the child. 

“What are we going to do?” he asks again. “I don’t want anyone to get into trouble, but it’s not like finding a lost dog.”

“Let’s look at this logically,” Bucky suggests. He shifts Archer to his other hip and leans against the counter. “Look at the note.”

“I’m looking at it, but it’s not like we can dust for fingerprints.”

“Steve, did anyone ever tell you that sometimes you’re way too literal? One, it’s written in perfectly coherent English. Two, we know that whoever wrote it had Archer’s safety in mind, and they felt they didn’t had any other options.” 

“Okay,” Steve takes a deep breath. “Wherever they are--mom or dad or both, they couldn’t take him, so it could be somewhere dangerous, but not so dangerous they don’t think they’ll be back, or they wouldn’t have torn up that twenty. Where are you going?”

“Checking for footprints.” 

Bucky steps out, scanning the ground for any disturbances. In this case, though, it doesn’t take Davy Crockett to spot the clue. It’s brightly colored and shows up plainly in the neatly mowed grass. 

It’s a plastic ring of oversized plastic keys. Archer lets out a squeal at the sight of it, and Bucky gives it to him.

“Germs!” Steve says urgently.

“Nah, kids this age? Always touching things, putting them in their mouths, sucking their grubby little fingers…he’ll be fine, Stevie--don’t worry so much.” He moves toward the back of the yard--there’s a three-story building with no windows on their left side, and to their right, the homeowner has climbing roses that overhang their side of the wall. “Here, hold him--”

Steve is holding the baby before he has time to object. Archer doesn’t look too thrilled by the change of venue, either. He flings the keys to the ground and howls. Meanwhile, Bucky has boosted himself over the wall--it’s only five feet tall--so Steve is on his own. He hastily swoops down and grabs the keys. Extends them to Archer, who smacks his hand and bellows some more. 

Emulating Bucky, Steve tries to mimic the rhythmic bouncing that worked for his friend. Instead of being pacified, Archer opens his mouth again and something pale yellow gushes out. It looks and smells like spoiled milk and pureed butternut squash.

Bucky hops back over the fence with something blue in his hand. “One of my potholders,” he announces. “Jesus, what happened to you? I leave you alone with the kid for two seconds--”

Steve thrusts the baby into his friend’s arms. “Probably something he ate.” He stalks back to the house to shower and change. 

It takes a long, hot shower before he feels clean again--it was in his hair, he can still smell it. Even over the scent of his shampoo…he throws his contaminated clothes down the cellar stairs to the laundry room, shuddering. When he returns to the kitchen twenty minutes later--he really wasn’t in any hurry to see Archer again--he finds the infant is sleeping.

“How did you do that? The kid _hates_ me.”

“He needed to be changed, Steve. That’s why he was so upset.” Bucky is perfectly relaxed, as evidenced by the ingredients he’s assembling on the counter.

“More brownies?”

“Nope. Biscotti. Gives our little man something to gnaw on--I think he might be getting ready to start teething, that’ll make him grumpy, too.”

Nip this in the bud, Steve thinks. “Bucky, he isn’t ours!”

“Just for a few days. Y’know what I think? I figure he’s local. After all, you’re famous, and I’m, well, infamous, even if I did get pardoned. So his folks didn’t have anywhere else to stash him and they picked us as a safe place. And it’s parents, plural, because there were two sets of footprints. The smaller set stayed on the other side of the fence. I figure Daddy climbed over, Mama passed him the baby, he brought him in here, swiped the brownies and made his escape.” He points to the diaper bag, its contents strewn across the table. “I’ve been looking through this stuff…the bag is pretty beat up, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was secondhand. Likewise, the clothes have been around the block. I have a feeling they don’t have a lot of money. 

“They aren’t using fancy products--it’s all store-brand stuff, I’d say about two days worth. That twenty might be all the spare cash they’ve got, which is why they snagged our brownies. Either they’re hungry or they know they’re gonna be. But they’re honest--they gave us money in good faith--and I looked him over while I was changing him--he looks healthy and well-fed to me. Whoever his folks are, I think he’s been their priority from Day One. We can’t just put him in the system, it wouldn’t be right.”

Oh God, those big blue eyes focused earnestly on him, and that little wobble in his voice…. Sternly, Steve reminds himself that Bucky has always had more than his share of Gaelic charm. One of them has to be sensible. He thinks of the quantity of diapers. “It’s Wednesday morning…two days?”

“Maybe three. Of course, that would fall on Saturday, when all the good little civil servants are at home. Or IKEA. Monday, say.” 

Steve buries his face in his hands. In seconds, Bucky has taken Steve’s very reasonable compromise and tacked on three more days. And he’s giving Steve that Look, the pleading one that says he can’t be so cruel as to send away that dear little baby….

“It’s going to cost you.”

“Of course!” Bucky smiles, all sunshine and rainbows. “Diapers, some new clothes, formula--it’s all on my nickel.”

“And Monday morning, we find someplace safe for him that isn’t here.”

“Whatever you say!” 

All that glee scares Steve. _If I’m not careful, he’s going to give it to Tony and Pepper to adopt. And with all Tony’s lawyers? They probably could. You’d think I’d know better after ninety years._

Bucky is as good as his word. Over the course of the next couple days, he replaces Archer’s used diapers with a mega-multi-pack that looks like it should last til the kid goes to kindergarten. His onesies are bright and new. One pantry shelf is suddenly full of formula, tubs dispensing wipes have appeared in every room, it seems, and there’s a playpen lavishly stocked with stuffed animals in the living room, where the stereo has been trained to play classical music. 

Somewhere, he’s found a--Steve can’t think of what to call it, papoose probably isn’t politically correct any more--but it’s a harness that holds Archer snugly against Bucky’s chest. Archer usually has his fist knotted in Bucky’s hair, which he takes in stride. He goes about his daily routine as calmly as ever, with the addition of afternoon walks around the neighborhood. The day after Archer’s arrival, Steve notices Bucky has traded in the science fiction that he usually reads for _The Common Sense Book of Baby and Child Care_. It’s getting serious….

Watching his friend bond with the infant is alarming and heartbreaking. Who would’ve thought a couple years ago that the world’s most terrifying assassin was capable of baby-talk and cuddling? And yet, he’s stepped into the role of dad without a speck of hesitation. He’s exhibits such joy in caring for the boy that Steve is afraid of what may happen when--one way or another--Archer leaves them. 

“I thought you liked kids, Steve,” Bucky says on their second evening with Archer. 

It’s Friday night, which is usually their mutually agreed on night to go explore the city, but not this week. There’s a good Italian place nearby that delivers, and that’s fine. Steve has picked up a few Disney movies that they’ve never seen--he always did like their animation--which is going to be a change from working their way through seventy years of Oscar-winning films. 

Steve sighs and admits, “I like kids when they’re old enough to carry on a conversation. Before that? I have no clue what to do with them. You’re lucky. You had three younger siblings to practice on.” 

“Four,” Bucky disagrees. 

Archer, in his new high-chair, is flinging as much pasta as he’s eating. They’re going to need to repaint the dining room. 

“Olivia, Elizabeth and Rebecca. That’s three.” 

“And _you_ , you big knucklehead. I might not have had to change your nappies, but I helped you with your homework and showed you how to cook for yourself and kept you from getting beat to jelly more times than I can count. You _are_ my kid brother, Stevie, even if it wasn’t my ma who had you.” 

There’s a lump in his throat, and if Bucky asked him right then, he would’ve agreed to keep Archer, adopt a pack of Great Danes to keep him company--anything. It’s a dangerous moment, broken by the sound of the doorbell. 

__Please, let that be his parents._ _

Instead, it’s Clint Barton, of all people. “I’m on my way to a gig at the Garden. You guys want to come?” 

“We can’t, we’re baby-sitting,” Steve informs him. 

“Bring the kid! It’s a family-friendly show. Sold out!” he adds proudly. "People have been camped out all week, waiting for _me_!" 

“Hiya, Clint!” Bucky calls from the dining room. ”Come on in and join us for dinner. What the heck are you doing at the Garden?” 

“Archery exhibition. Ninety minutes of trick shooting and witty banter,” Clint replies, wandering into the dining room where Bucky has already set another place. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding about a baby.” 

_”Language!”_ Steve and Bucky say in unison. 

Clint pretends to cringe, then sticks out his tongue at Archer, who offers him a strand of spaghetti. He accepts it. “Not bad. I’ll try some of that.” 

During their meal, Steve brings their friend up to speed on the events of the last couple days. Predictably, he’s on Bucky’s side. “Cute kid. Cool name. Can I get another one of those meatballs? And that garlic bread. Good stuff. Hey, go for it. You guys can afford a baby. It’s not like you’re bad role models, or anything.” 

“He belongs to somebody,” Steve says for what feels like the four hundredth time in the last few days. 

“You never know.” Clint wiggles his eyebrows, which Archer appreciates. “Try one of those drugstore paternity tests, maybe one of you had a one-night stand with dividends.” 

It isn’t him, Steve knows, but Bucky looks thoughtful. 

“I hate to eat and run,” Clint is regretful, “but I have to be onstage in 88 minutes, and it’s going to take most of that to get there.” 

“Better change your shirt first,” Steve advises. 

“Ha! Trust me, wardrobe will have me all decked out…believe me, if Wayne Newton was a super hero, that’s what I’d look like.” 

They regard him blankly. 

“God, I hope the audience gets it.” With that he’s gone, promising to come by later for a nightcap. 

“A nightcap?” Steve is scandalized. “He won’t be here before midnight, you know it as well as I do.” 

“So? Archer gets a midnight feeding, and we have a guest room. Honestly, kids are a lot more flexible than you give them credit for.” Bucky secures Archer in his papoose while he clears the table. “This little guy, as long as he’s got a full belly and a clean diaper, he doesn’t care if his face is dirty. He doesn’t know if it’s twelve in the morning or high noon.” 

He carries am armful of dishes out to the kitchen, returning with a rag to wipe the plastic table cover with. “As long as the people around him aren’t too tense, he’s fine. That’s why you need to learn to loosen up. You think he hates you? He doesn’t hate you--you’re scaring him.” 

This coming from the ferocious Winter Soldier. _Oh, God, it’s going to be_ bad _when he has to surrender Archer…._

It’s a quiet evening. Bucky does KP, as usual--he’s very particular about where everything goes. Steve has taken refuge in a book, then Bucky returns and sits cross-legged on the floor, rolling a ball back and forth with Archer. They’re both happy, so Steve doesn’t mention the Disney films. Eventually, the baby stretches out and falls sleep without a fuss. 

Bucky smiles tenderly down at the slumbering boy. He gathers him up gently, cradling him in his arms. The song he begins to hum is one Steve vaguely recalls hearing Mrs. Barnes sing from time to time. The melody is sweet, and Steve discretely turns down the volume on the stereo the better to hear it. 

As far as he can tell, there’s no need to rock the child, who’s already fast asleep. Then he sees the tears rolling down Bucky’s face and realizes why he isn’t singing. 

Steve chokes up. There are so many things they’ve both missed--marriage, families of their own--now, here they are, two chronologically displaced guys clinging to each other as the only familiar points of reference in a strange new world. Bucky’s right; they’re brothers as surely as if they shared DNA. 

He wants to say something comforting. He’s rallied troops, inspired outnumbered teammates and roused insurrection at SHIELD--he should be able to raise his brother’s morale. But how? Wouldn’t telling him what a great father he is be rubbing salt into a raw wound? Distract him? Offer to go somewhere tomorrow, all three of them, like the zoo or the botanical gardens? A family outing, that might do it-- 

The doorbell rings again, but it’s too early to be Clint. Steve has an unexpected rush of queasiness. 

Bucky is already on his feet. Archer hasn’t stirred. “I’ll get it,” he says heavily. 

“Let me.” 

A couple stands on the front stoop. The young man is an inch or two taller than Steve, but thin. His wife is petite and thinner. Bucky had diagnosed ‘not a lot of money’, and he was right. They’re both dressed in worn jeans and shabby hooded sweatshirts. Hers is faded purple, his was dark green. 

“Can I help you?” Steve is surprised by the edge in his own voice. He knows who they are and why they’re here, and now it’s he who wants to plead for more time, for Bucky’s sake. <

The guy can’t be more than 22 or 23. He pulls the other half of the twenty out of the pocket of his worn fleece jacket and holds it up. His hand trembles, but the girl--she’s a little younger--she has no such qualms. 

“Where’s Archer? I’ve missed him so much!” 

“Let them in, Steve. We need to talk.” There’s ice in Bucky’s tone. 

They shuffle past him, through the small foyer into the living room. Steve watches as they note the new playpen with its zoo of plush animals, the stockpile of supplies (the tip of the iceburg) and all the signs of a comfortable, affluent household. No sign of Archer, though. Probably secure in the kitchen. 

“Have a seat.” Bucky uses his ‘Sergeant Barnes’ voice, and they both obey, sitting rigidly side-by-side on the sofa. “Suppose we start with your names. You didn’t sign your note, and I doubt either of you is Andrew Jackson.” 

Their story emerges with much coaxing--from Steve, who quickly figures out that he’s elected to play “good cop”. Bucky? Scary cop, no two ways about it. 

They’re Nick and Allison Fletcher, they live right around the corner. It’s not the greatest building, but they got a good deal, subletting from a guy who moved back to India. Archer is the most amazing thing that ever happened to either of them--he wasn’t planned, but he’s such a terrific little guy…. They both light up when they talk about him. 

Things have been rough: Nick used to have a solid office job, but the building took major damage during the Chitauri attack and his company down-sized him. He’s been temping and looking for something better. He does IT, he’s got mad skills, but he hardly ever hears back, and he’s had, like, two interviews in the last two years. Allison never finished high school and works fifty hours a week for minimum wage at a deli. 

“You love him,” Bucky growls, “but you decide out of the blue to drop him on the doorstep of two strangers--hell, more than that, _you trespassed in our home_ and you stole my goddamn brownies!” 

Meekly, Allison pulls the pan out of her tote bag and sets it on the coffee table. “They were very good.” 

Before Steve can succumb to the hysterical laughter he feels rising, Bucky begins to swear. Some of it is in English--even Steve, who’s been in the army, is appalled--some of it is in other languages, and he suspects that’s even worse. “You know nothing about us!” Bucky rages once he’s exhausted his wealth of profanity. “What made you think we wouldn’t throw him in a stew-pot like cannibals? Or sell him off to the highest bidder, or turn him over to the Children’s Aid Society?” 

“Because he’s Captain America,” Nick says bravely. 

“And they pardoned you--didn’t they?” Allison’s not sure, and that’s unforgivable. 

"And that makes me innocent?” Bucky chokes on a laugh, but amusement plays no part in it. “No, honeybunch, I’m not innocent. I can make brownies and keep my lawn mowed and still be a total bastard. So before I pick up the phone and get the authorities involved, I want an explanation for why that kid ended up on my kitchen table!” 

“It was our anniversary,” Allison falters. “And we haven’t done anything that was just the two of us since before he was born. I managed to save enough for tickets because I knew Nick really wanted to go--and Robin was going to watch Archer, but at the last minute, she heard that her grandfather was dying, and she had to go to Florida for the funeral and everything.” 

“No family?” Steve asks, sympathetic. 

“My mom’s clear out in Rahway,” Allison sighs. “We couldn’t afford bus fare to the wilds of Jersey, and she flat-out refuses to drive in the city.” 

“I wouldn’t trust my old lady to baby-sit a dead rat,” Nick says matter-of-factly. “She’s been drunk for almost as long as I can remember. She used to slap me around for no reason. A crying baby? She’d murder him.” 

“Okay, I’m missing something here.” Steve exhales. “So, it was your anniversary. That’s all well and good, but what the heck were you doing for three whole days?” 

“Camping out--” Nick mutters. 

“In line--” Allison adds. 

“For what?! The Second Coming?!” Bucky snarls. He’s kind of intimidating, Steve admits. Archer’s folks are cringing in terror. 

“The Hawkeye show,” Allison whispers. “At Madison Square Garden.” 

_“ _ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!_ ”_

In the echoing silence that follows Bucky’s bellow, there’s a faint cry. Archer is tuning up. 

Allison is off the sofa and halfway to the dining room like she’s teleported. She eludes Bucky’s grab for her arm and vanishes kitchen-ward. 

Bucky’s gaze dares Nick to follow her. He, smart man, doesn’t move. 

In a moment, Allison is back. Archer is riding on one hip, and he’s cooing and gurgling happily. His chubby fists are clenched in her hair and there’s an enormous smile on his face. 

Although she’s otherwise average looking, Allison is beautiful as she gazes down at her son. “I’m sorry you had to buy supplies,” she says with dignity. “We’ll pay you back.” 

“Not on the best day you ever had!” Bucky retorts. He’s dialed down the volume, mindful of Archer’s proximity. “Look, I’m sending you home with a new bale of diapers--don’t thank me, just get them out of the coat closet. There’s a new tub of wipes in his diaper bag, and formula. And some fresh onesies. Oh, and I think he’s about to start teething--he likes chewing on my finger. 

“Now listen--you left Archer here, that makes us his godfathers, whether you like it or not. We are _officially involved_. You bring him by for visits, three times a week, at least. You need help, any kind of help, _call us_. Understand? Because we care about our godson, and I personally intend to keep an eye on him. _This_ is not going to happen again.” 

Nick is nodding like a bobble-head, but Allison purses her lips. “I don’t know if I want our son exposed to that kind of language,” she says primly. 

“Would you rather he was exposed to Social Services?” Steve interjects, forestalling another rant from Bucky. He looks over at Nick. “Bring over a copy of your resume. I’ll see if Stark Industries is hiring. We have a vested interest in seeing you two succeed. He’s a great kid.” 

“And we want him to have the best,” Bucky cuts in, as smoothly as if his rabid diatribe had never occurred.“We’ll be happy to cover his diapers, formula, toys…and when you’re working, you’ll need daycare. Since we’re right around the corner, it could hardly be more convenient for you.” 

“Wow, that’s really generous,” Nick gasps. “Thank you!” 

Allison doesn’t trust Bucky’s toothy grin. She’s gazing at him, a long, level stare that isn’t at all intimidated any more. Her stance is protective of her baby, and there’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that she’d lay down her life for him if required to. 

“Honey,” Nick ventures, “let’s say goodnight and go home. These nice guys are probably ready to turn in, and weren’t you saying on the way over how much you’re looking forward to our own bed?” 

“ _If_ we bring him over,” she says directly to Bucky, “you will absolutely not use language like that in my son’s presence ever again, do you understand?” 

“As long as I don’t see any signs of neglect _when_ you bring him over, I’ll be as pious as an altar boy.” There’s that shark-like grin again. “But young lady, I hope you understand why I’m disturbed. Leaving your child with strangers so you can go off to a show? Even for your anniversary, that’s short-sighted and selfish.” 

“You could have just asked!” Steve throws in for good measure. 

Bucky is still locking eyes intently with Allison. She nods after a moment. “We’ll bring him over,” she mumbles. “He likes you.” 

They begin to help the couple assemble their ‘loot’. They’re both loaded for bear (including Archer’s favorite teddy bear), and that’s just the stuff that Bucky isn’t keeping on hand for visits. It’s a good thing they live nearby--Steve is waiting for Bucky to suggest walking them home. 

When Steve opens the front door to let them out, Clint is standing on the doorstep, fingertip an inch away from the doorbell. 

“h my God!” squeals Allison. “It’s you!” 

“Dude, we just saw your show!” 

“We got a tee shirt! From one of the tee shirt cannons--could you, would you sign it, pleeease?” 

“Dude, I mean, Mr. Dude--Mr. Hawkeye! Sir! You’re my hero! During the Battle of New York, I saw you blow up one of those alien cyborgs without even looking, it was the most tremendous thing I ever saw! I looked out the office window and all those little alien sky-scooters were whizzing around and I saw you on the roof, and you had a freaking bow and arrow and I thought you were toast, them BOOM! You blew that thing to scrap metal.” 

“Practice,” Clint says with what passes for modesty with him. 

“You’re why our son is named Archer,” Allison confesses shyly. 

“Hey, if it isn’t the Spaghetti Kid!” Clint grins at Archer, who grins back. “How you doing, little buddy? You guys want something signed? Sure, no problem. I’ve got tee shirts, posters--all kinds of swag in the trunk. Any friend of the Kid is a friend of mine.” He nods toward the vintage Dodge parked at the curb. “You guys need a lift?” 

Steve watches as they pile into the car and drive away. 

Bucky is in the kitchen, running hot water into the brownie pan. “I sent them home with the rest of the spaghetti,” he says, voice perfectly calm. “I left that half-twenty in the bag and added a couple more. They can use it, I’m sure. That girl’s got some moxie--must be where Archer gets it.” 

“You missed the best part--his name is Archer because his dad is a Hawkeye fan.” 

“If I weren’t an altar boy, I might say, you gotta be shitting me.” 

“But since you’re an altar boy?” 

“I never said a word.” 

“You’re taking this better than I expected.” 

Bucky’s gaze rests for a moment on the ring of plastic keys, overlooked on the drying rack in the haste of packing up. “It’s okay, Steve. He’ll be back.” 

“That was a great idea, offering to absorb the cost of diapers and everything. They can’t afford to turn that down. And passing it off as us being his godfathers--that way they won’t feel like it’s charity.” 

“Oh, I was absolutely serious about that. I took him over to St. Anne’s yesterday and did a little DIY baptism. It may not be ecclesiastically sound,” he admits, “but as far as I’m concerned, he’s as much ours as theirs. I’m serious, I _do_ plan to keep an eye on him and make sure he’s happy and doesn’t need shoes or a new coat or whatever. Those kids? I feel bad for them, they’re in over their heads--but they need…guidance.” 

For a moment, Bucky wears that expression that threatens life and limb, them he smiles. “The toys and diapers and stuff, that was just sweetening the pot. What I really did was, I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.” 

_…._


End file.
